Will We Amount to Anything at all
by NoreNeither
Summary: Small Sabriel snapshots from the agegap!AU verse. More details within. Be warned: herein lies smuttyness.


**Title:** Agegap!AU (for lack of any other title)

**Rating:** NC-17

**Pairings/Characters:** Gabriel/Sam, Sabriel

**Spoilers:** None, AU

**Warnings:** thoughts of underage relations, smUUUUTTTT, age gap between Sam and Gabriel (Gabe is 17 to begin with, Sam is 26)

**Word Count:** 2k but I'll just sort of add to it when I can

**A/N:** My friend dreadelion and I came up with this last year and I just found this on my computer and forgot I had written this much. Basically the premise was Gabriel was a young offender and Sam was his supervisor/youth lawyer for handling his case, and somewhere in there Sam becomes completely smitten with Gabriel. I sincerely don't know what hole this story crawled forth from, so if it's not your thing, don't read it. I don't know if I'll post any more-I may write something else in the future (there was a whole plot we figured out too, I promise) but we'll see. Basically this was an excuse to write Sabriel which makes me Very Happy :)

As usual, un-beta'd.

* * *

Sam awoke to sweat prickling the back of his neck. His dream had been vivid, fever-pitch so, clarity and intensity of feeling whittling his emotional barriers down as sure as anything he had before encountered. And the memory of that soft, tussock-brown hair, piercing eyes, crooked grin, guitar-calloused hands flicking the ash from yet another menthol cigarette… it reminded him of a another need the dream had awoken within him. He bit his lip and reached down to nudge his hardness with the heel of his hand, lashes fluttering at the clear memory of _him, _dreamforms linking them intimately. Sam had detached _him _from his name altogether in his head, the impersonality making his deep-seated attraction easier to deal with.

He ran his hand down the length of the fabric, pulling against the touch of wetness at the tip, the desire running through his veins making it impossible to back away from. He tore at his boxers, pulling them down with haste, tightening his hand around his shaft, holding the seamless image of golden skin and hazel-bright eyes searing against his lids. Sam's breath stuttered—he simply couldn't help himself. The image was so absolute in pulling _need _it physically made him ache just behind his sternum, a deep twisting feeling deep in his chest. He barely had enough coherence to think that maybe this was what they meant when they said 'heartache'. Because, by god, he had it, he felt it, even as he stroked himself off, his now very awake brain warring with his heart. He made a sound somewhere between a moan and a sob as he jerked faster, the sensation mounting, aided by the liquid seeping from the very tip. He came, unexpectedly, with a tight shudder, the blankets muffling the sharp release and smearing the hot come into the fabric. He fell back against the pillow with a swallowed sigh, guilt immediately chasing away the lingering waves of his orgasm. He gritted his teeth and opened his eyes, the pooling morning light chasing him back to reality.

Slowly he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He rubbed his face harshly, his sticky, come-covered other hand lying open on his knee, the spend drying in the cool morning air.

He couldn't quite manage a deep enough breath to steel himself for the coming day. Not this morning.

* * *

It wasn't snowing any more, and the snow had turned to black slurry, icy underneath. It had long soaked through Gabriel's canvas lace-ups, and he was having trouble feeling the cigarette between his fingers. He absently flicked it with his thumb and took a final draw before dropping the butt into the barely-visible gutter. The smoke he'd been inhaling was warm, at least.

It was clear his bus was very late. It was almost as if they hadn't been expecting snow in an Illinois January. Fuckers.

He turned, and began to walk in the vague direction of his house, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets, taking care where he stepped in the dying light. He hummed softly to himself as he walked to stop his teeth chattering, a melody without song half remembered from childhood. It might've been _Battle Hymn of the Republic, _but could just as easily have been some _Eurhythmics _tune.

'Gabriel—Gabriel!' called a voice from far behind him. He turned, seeing a very tall figure running haphazardly towards him, trying not to slip on the icy footpath but trying to be swift nonetheless. As it drew closer he realized it was Sam.

He blinked. 'Mr. Winchester?' he said once the man had reached him, two circles of colour high on his cheeks showing easily in his lack of summer tan.

'Gabriel,' said Sam, breathless from running—seemingly all the way from the community hall. He swallowed and grinned, still breathing heavily. He held up a long swatch of fabric that looking remarkably like –

'My scarf!' said Gabriel in surprise, hand flying to his neck. Sure enough, he'd forgotten to put it on when he'd left Sam's room. No wonder he'd felt a bit cold; that thing was the fluffiest, ugliest old piece of clothing he owned, but it was warm as hell. He reached out to take it from Sam, but he shook his head, gesturing for Gabriel to spin around, words clearly still a lesser priority than catching his breath. Once Gabriel had turned around with a sigh, Sam looped the scarf around his neck, tucking the ends into the hood of his jacket. It was soft and warm, like Sam had kept it in his jacket so it wouldn't be cold for when he got it to Gabriel. He flushed at the generosity, thankful Sam couldn't see his face.

'You'll catch a cold like that,' Sam said softly, a hand lingering on his shoulder.

By the time Gabriel had plucked up enough courage to turn around Sam had crunched away in the snow, his slowly retreating back hunched against the wind.

Gabriel bit his lip, trying to supress a smile. Suddenly he wasn't cold any more.

* * *

He was a monster, a predator even. There was no other descriptor for someone like him. Good god, he was _twenty-seven. _What sort of perversion of his birth meant he was attracted to boys almost half his age?

_Boy, _his traitorous mind corrected him, _One boy, singular. With eyes as deep as summer and hair to match, oh, and the gorgeous line down to the crook of his neck, taught and fine—_

Sam groaned (or was that sobbed?), hitting his head back against the eggshell-blue tile. It hurt, but did little to calm his raging hard-on the cold water of the shower was also doing nothing to alleviate. He just couldn't. stop. thinking. about. him.

_Gabriel. _

Even his name sounded like an invocation, rolling smooth and clear off his tongue, bright as shining-fucking-noon-day sun.

A tear slipped from his eye, lost in the steady flow of chilly water. What had he done to deserve this? Was this some karma from his years and years of mistakes? It had to be. Sam wouldn't wish this living torment on his worst enemies.

But still, the pervading images of beautiful, smooth limbs arranged beneath him, the deep slide into calming, fiery-tight heat… He just couldn't shake it. And every time he had to see Gabriel, it just got worse. He'd do something, something completely innocuous: a flicker of long lashes, bleached at the tips against poreless, heat-flushed cheeks … a quick swipe of a pink tongue against wind-burnt lips … one long-fingered hand rucking up walnut-coloured hair in its grown-out, boyish cut …

It was driving him mad, truly it was. And Sam was just weak enough that he couldn't get Gabriel transferred to another colleague. It had already surpassed addiction; it was jealousy now.

The worst thing was, Gabriel himself was totally oblivious. As to whether or not that _was _a blessing or a curse, well, Sam's opinion vacillated. As he lightly fingered the burning length that stood heavy and high, curling towards his belly, it was definitely a Bad Thing.

Dammit.

Gabriel, Sam had found, was more addictive than any drug.

…

_Clearly seventeen was old enough that, despite his diminutive height, he'd gotten strength enough to rival even Sam. He pushed him back against the low-turned lintel of the door, with a growl blossoming deep in his chest. It was forceful enough that the panels of glass in the door rattled in their frames. Sam opened his mouth to speak but, swift as an adder and with eyes dark enough to match, Gabriel buried his hand knuckle-deep into the finer hair at Sam's temple and dragged him down into a deep, resounding kiss, no heed for pain or the fact that the older man held ten years and nearing a foot on him. _

_The kiss was claiming and hard, his tongue slipping past Sam's lips with brevity, the lack of practice between them no barrier to the exploration. Sam's gasp was swallowed, and he reciprocated by clutching Gabriel's narrow hips and bringing him in flush against him, letting him feel the straining hardness at his crotch, almost overwhelmed it was reciprocated in kind. Gabriel's brows knitted with concentration as he kept on moving, his roving hands stilling on Sam's shoulders. Sam understood wordlessly, and picked him up, reversing their places so that he had Gabriel pinned up hard against the door instead. _

_He kissed down the smooth skin of Gabriel's jaw, downy and not at all like the nine-o'clock stubble Sam was sporting by this time of day. This gesture was coupled, in natural progression, with one tight, upwards roll of his hips, though it was more of a jerk of urgency and desperation than anything else, the movement bringing not release, but instead even more frustration, the taught , hard feeling of length-against-length reminding them both of the altogether too many layers of clothing they were wearing._

_Gabriel leaned forward, insistent on driving Sam backwards, still clinging to him, legs firm around his waist, putting the centre of his urgency directly against Sam's. Their hearts thrummed hard under their skin, incessant and vital, calling for them to do _more, quicker, faster, now.

_They kissed as Sam staggered backwards towards the bed of his one-room apartment, so desperate, so fast, the need to consume each other, to get close and deep as humanly possible, blacking out almost every single other sense. Sam was delirious with it, drunk on the thought that Gabriel was here, with him, on him, the taste of him on his tongue liquid and sweet as honey._

_Sam's knees buckled as he hit the bed and he collapsed, the smaller, wriggling Gabriel on top of him, trying desperately to gain purchase, friction against the taught line of his cock, a small keening noise bubbling at the back of his throat. Sam looked up at him, his mouth slightly parted. Gabriel's hair was a mess of dulled chestnut in the half-light, the darkness stealing all hints of gold tint from the silky threads. His face was shadowed, but he could just make out a flush that had stolen over his cheeks, colour high against the unmarred tone of youthful skin. _

_'Fuck, but you're beautiful,' he managed to pant into Gabriel's swollen lips, his lids heavy at the low note of pleasure that he gained from the drag of Gabriel's hips against his. The jut of bone against bone was painful, but the hard lines under his boyish softness just made Sam groan at the thought of how much he was taking, and dammit, how much he was just being given. _

_'You say that like you're surprised,' said Gabriel, dipping down to suck along the tendon at Sam's neck. Sam could tell, though, that under the nonchalance, Gabriel was pleased, flattered even. He'd never been called handsome before, he would've bet his life on it. _Oh the pity of it, _he thought. _So many lost opportunities…

_A hot hand sinking down into the waistband of his jeans brought him back to himself with another wave of roiling pleasure. He took charge then, and before Gabriel could get his hands any further, Sam had snapped open Gabriel's own pants and reached in, palming the soft, thickened flesh it was hiding. Gabriel arched, so that he was now mostly leaning in between Sam's long legs. _

_'Sa-am,' was all he managed to stutter, before pushing involuntarily against the warm hand that encased him. Sam, with his other hand, popped open the button of his own jeans, and drew Gabriel's hand down to his own reddened cock. _

_'Like this,' said softly, leading his smaller, calloused hand to the leaking peak. As Gabriel tentatively ran a thumb through the unsmudged droplets of liquid there, Sam jumped inadvertently, tightening his grip on Gabriel. With a sharp intake of breath Gabriel did the same, and beyond that, they swiftly found a steady rhythm, each other in each other's hand, linked inextricably, the sounds of gasps and stifled moans a sweet duet of sensation and pleasure. And, through that, Sam's eyes never left Gabriel's. _

_It was intense, almost excruciatingly so, being linked so completely, but never once did Sam or Gabriel turn from each other. Sam felt himself falling, loosing himself in those total depths of bright hazel, even darkened as it was in the dimness of his apartment. No darkness, he felt, could ever counter the light they brought to him. _

_He bit his lip as he felt the first threads of orgasm building in his nerves, and as they grew and increased in number, he gripped harder at Gabriel's fine flesh. He felt the boy begin to tense, and it increase rapidly with every thrust, faster even than Sam himself, until he locked up totally, shuddering with an intake of breath as he came, hot fluid releasing over Sam's fingers, and spilling out between them. Fighting the aftershocks, he relaxed slightly against Sam's inner thigh, still never relenting his grip. With a few more deft tugs, he sent Sam himself over the edge—_

And he came, hard, painting the tile in front of him only momentarily before the cold water washed it away.

Sam's hair fell in his face, wet, dark locks plastered to his skin, hiding him from the yellowed light of the single bulb.

He told himself he wasn't crying. Grown men didn't cry. But when he thought of Gabriel, he didn't feel like a man, or like himself. He just felt lost, this empty hollow in his chest crying out for reciprocation, for companionship, for someone—a certain someone—just to tell him he was loved, needed, wanted. It hurt more than living, and it was in that moment that Sam realized a fact he'd been avoiding for two solid months:

He was in love, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.


End file.
